This is something I had made up for the ‘Halloween Front Porch’ assignment in Mrs. Kriese’s class.
You are walking, your legs moving against your will, to that door, that awful door hidden in the shadows.
You know which door.
The one where monsters, your worst fears pop up behind in your dreams
Those nightmares where everything is crumbling into darkness.
And you are walking towards it.
Every step gets faster and faster, finally into a blur, yet, the air has turned into thick syrup, making your movements slow.
You want to scream, need to shriek, to get someone, anyone’s attention.
But you can’t.
Your mouth, arms, fingers are frozen with immense fear.
The only thing you can do is watch in horror.
The browning, dead grass, the wind whipping your clothes, everything about this night scares you.
You start to age, the years piling up on your shoulders like weights and you are sweating, thinking about what lies before you, behind the wooden door with the brass knocker and peeling paint.
But soon, your thoughts become still.
Because you’ve reached the door.
And knocked.